Tales of the Slayers
by RobinRocks
Summary: A look at the power and plague of the Death Note itself, known to bring misfortune to its owner. Light Yagami might have put his notebook to the most epic use, but, as Ryuk once said, he was not the first to ever pick one up. [Three oneshots]
1. Prologue

Tales of the Slayers

Prologue

Ryuk tilted his head in lazy observation for a moment or two, wide mouth unmoving from its usual stitched-on grin, before giving a small nod that made his earring jingle.

This human boy – this Light Yagami – had yet ceased to impress him.

"You know, Light," he said, as he watched the teenager carefully extract the ink reservoir from between the circuit connectors and replace it with the rubber insulator glued to the underside of the drawer's false bottom; "You sure went to a lot of trouble with this."

Light spared him a glance with those chocolate eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'd heard," Ryuk went on, raising a clawed finger, "that when a human picks up a Death Note, their biggest problem is hiding it. You must be the first to have put in this much thought."

Light laughed, and dismissed Ryuk's further notion that his method was still a dangerous thing to be playing with; he only put his arms up behind his head and noted that he'd rather deal with a house fire than the death penalty.

It was actually a good half and hour later – when Ryuk was gazing out of the window munching an apple – that Light Yagami glanced up from his homework, his interest apparently, _finally_, piqued.

"I'm the first to have gone to this trouble?" He toyed with his pen between deft fingers. "Then there have been other humans? _Other_ Death Notes?"

"Oh, yeah. I toldja, Light. The Shinigami world is a dump."

Ryuk's eyes glinted; though the human boy did not quail beneath the flash of them.

"What's your point?" The brunette asked coolly, resting his head in one hand.

Ryuk pointed a long finger at the drawer concealing the Death Note by way of reply, adding;

"…I'm not the first Shinigami to have gotten bored."

* * *

I feel like I should explain this, so I'll try and keep it brief; 

On re-watching the above scene (more or less) in the _Death Note _anime, I was struck with a sudden notion that it might be really interesting to look at the power of the Death Note itself in relation to the fact that it apparently only brings humans misfortune. However, the only way to really critically look at the Death Note itself is to remove it from the context of the manga/anime, and from the intense character politics and dynamics between Light and L and Misa and the task force and Mello and Near and blahblahblah.

Yes, that's all the best stuff in _Death Note_. We're not denying that. But it kind of distracts from the notebook itself, and that's what _Tales of the Slayers_ is about (name is borrowed from a _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ AU comic series). The best way to illustrate the unluckiness of the notebook was, I felt, to use OCs – not because I love OCs ad made up my own _Death Note_ characters who are totally gonna like marry L and stuff. Quite the opposite, in fact – OCs are useful here because you guys _don't_ care about them. It means that you'll focus more on the notebook and less on whether or not those two chained-together-muppets are _ever_ going to just give into the urges and get it on.

Also, I was interested that Ryuk said "when a human finds a Death Note, their biggest problem is hiding it", which implies that other humans before Light had picked up Death Notes, and possibly used them.

The result is _Tales of the Slayers_: Three one-shots, set in past times long before the post-millennium setting of _Death Note_, looking at how much being a 'pre-Kira' Kira sucks (plus a prologue and epilogue featuring Light and Ryuk).

If you choose to continue reading _Tales of the Slayers_ (since I know "OCs" will have sent many of you scrambling for the hills), please look out for the references to real _DN_ characters thrown in here and there (such as names and other bits and pieces).

And, incidentally, if you _do_ choose to continue reading, thankyou very much – I don't expect this to be very popular, in all honestly. :)


	2. France, 1452

Tales of the Slayers: I

France, 1452

"I know you meant no harm, Suyaka, but…"

Sister Lucia di Mercatto pushed the drawer shut and locked it, placing the key safely beneath the belt of her plain nun's habit.

"…You never should have brought this evil thing to me. Only the Lord knows that as His loyal servant, I have no use for such a thing; nor should any man or woman created by Him."

She turned to the Shinigami behind her; a terrible creature, really, surely not created by the wondrous hands of God, who had shaped things of such beauty.

The creature – this death god, or Shinigami, or 'Suyaka', for that was apparently her name – seemed as though she had been spat out of Hell; tall, spindly, dark and demonic, with crimson eyes and milk-coloured needle teeth.

On first sight of her, Sister Lucia had been sorely afraid – and even now, the sight of the beast still wrought fear in her; but in knowing her, as the owner of this terrible… _Death Note_, she had come to know that there was no malice in the creature.

She was neutral, not judgemental, and certainly not… _evil_.

Sister Lucia had found the notebook in the church gardens; repulsed in equal measure by the appearance of Suyaka and the rules the notebook contained. She had thrown it down upon reading only the first rule – _'The human whose name is written in this note shall die' _– and ran, though Suyaka had been forced to pick up the Death Note and pursue, being now attached to Sister Lucia, and Sister Lucia now being the owner.

That had been over a month ago – Suyaka was most definitely observant enough to realise that the young nun was quite frankly terrified of the Death Note, and would probably never use it. Though – and stranger still – she would not be persuaded to pass it on, as Suyaka had informed her was possible.

"No, I cannot let you give this terrible thing to someone else!" Sister Lucia had cried. "Not all are as devoted to God's gentle way as I! It may fall into the hands of someone who would use it for evil gain."

Suyaka watched Sister Lucia with great interest then, having nothing better to do; it seemed strange that a young woman of clear Italian origin should be in France, though that was Sister Lucia di Mercatto's situation precisely. And young she was – nineteen, if that, though a serious and studious nun. She often glanced upon the Death Note, and then knelt and recited up to ten rosaries, her fingers trembling on the onyx beads.

Suyaka glanced with interest upon the world she found herself in, also – the French at this time were rather obsessed with hunting, catching, torturing and killing "witches".

("What is a witch, Lucia?" The Shinigami had asked, as the dusk sky filled with the acrid smoke of a burning ritual.

"Nonsense," Sister Lucia had replied, her hands clasped in silent prayer for those accused, rosary dangling between her fingers. "Stories invented by those most wicked men who claim to be hunters of witches, and who are paid handsomely for their services. They accuse poor and lonely old women of being practitioners with Satan Himself, and kill them for no known crime."

"The Death Note, then," Suyaka said softly, "is no more evil than humankind itself.")

Sister Lucia did indeed seem constantly locked in prayer for those souls of those accused and murdered, branded as witches; though Suyaka had noticed too that the name of a man – a French name – appeared on the lips of the young and virtuous nun during her cycles of Our Fathers and Hail Marys.

And often Suyaka glanced upon the lifespan suspended above Sister Lucia's head like a halo.

She had converted it once; and did not care to do so again.

—

The man whose name was oft uttered by Sister Lucia in her frantic prayers was Michel Pére-Terre; a man of great power, wealth, charisma, beauty and, above all, the most overwhelming _evil_. He was older than Sister Lucia, somewhere in his late twenties, dark-haired and with eyes of a pale, icy grey, which rarely smiled with his mouth. He was a local landlord, benefactor of the church – and, of late, a self-proclaimed witch-hunter.

_The_ witch-hunter, in fact; all other witch-hunters within the province of Toulouse answered to him and to him alone, whereby it was his power to grant both penalties and pardons.

The fact of the matter was that Michel Pére-Terre had yet to grant a single one of the latter.

Suyaka, upon seeing this man, when he swept into the church – clad in a cloak of finest Italian velvet, trimmed with exquisite French silk and gold embroidery – wondered why then her lovely nun would utter his name in her prayers; the Shinigami herself was repulsed by the way Pére-Terre threw his arm around the shoulders of the abbot and proclaimed loudly that he was getting God's noble work done well by ridding the earth of witches.

"Our Lord shall be pleased indeed with my work! No foul witch shall be allowed to practice their sorcery while I am the scourge of Toulouse, good father." He patted the bewildered abbot on the shoulder. "Soon all of fair France shall be cleansed of Satanic practice."

"It is a noble goal you pursue, my son," Abbot Dongeouise had replied in a mild, worried voice, "but I am concerned that Our Lord would not see killing as the best way of cleansing—"

Pére-Terre had laughed loudly, cutting him off, and swept away even as he spoke;

"You forget then the Old Testament, Abbot Dongeouise? Did the Lord Himself not drown the wicked save for Noah, nor send an Angel of Death to take the lives of all the first-born sons in Egypt? Even Our Lord believes in punishing evil-doers."

Pére-Terre had paused then at Sister Lucia, who stood with three other, older nuns, solemn and silent; he chose her perhaps because she was young, or perhaps because he could see and sense that she was not French.

"Would you not agree, Sister?" He asked of her, his eyes cold and cruel as he baited her for her reaction.

Sister Lucia, with Suyaka floating unseen behind her, had done nothing but tighten her pale lips, glancing once at Michel Pére-Terre before steadfastly looking away again.

"Well?" Pére-Terre demanded more insistently, taking the young nun by the elbow. "What is your answer, Sister? Do you not think Our Lord would be pleased with my work?"

Sister Lucia ached to speak out against him; for she was filled with something as close to loathing as she would allow herself to feel. This man was a creature far more unholy than Suyaka, despite his handsome looks and undeniable charm.

"Monsieur Pére-Terre, _please_," Abbot Dongeouise said, sounding harassed as he stepped forward. "Leave Sister di Mercatto be. She is not obliged to judge your actions."

Pére-Terra glared a moment more at the silent nun before releasing her.

"You are right, of course, Abbot Dongeouise," he said smoothly. "My sincerest apologies, Sister." He swept his fine cloak up around himself. "Well, do pardon me, but I must be on my way. I have judgements to attend to – those who speak against Our Lord must be punished."

He exalted from the church; and Sister Lucia begged to be excused, leaving for her quarters and climbing the stone stairway was fast her heavy habit would allow. Suyaka floated behind in silence; observing with perplexity that Sister Lucia threw herself upon her knees after bolting her door and began to pray, "Monsieur Michel Pére-Terre" forming on her lips over and over again.

Suyaka went to the window and waited, gazing with disinterest at the bleak world outside.

There was more smoke.

Eventually Sister Lucia arose from her knees and went to her basin to splash water on her face, whereupon Suyaka finally found a chance to speak with her;

"Lucia?"

"Yes, Suyaka?"

"That foul man… Why do you pray for him?"

"I pray that his soul will be saved," Sister Lucia replied tiredly. "His wicked deeds will serve only to sentence him to an eternity in Hell. I pray to Our Lord to show him mercy."

Suyaka was silent for a while.

"You are a very strange human, Lucia," she said finally. "I have observed humans from afar. The majority of them repulse me. They serve only themselves. You are different."

Sister Lucia smiled a faint smile, crossing her chamber to the drawer and, on extracting the key, opening it to reveal the slim black Death Note.

"Your words are kind, Suyaka, but untrue." The young nun lifted the notebook from the drawer tentatively, as though she felt that it might burn her. "I have wicked thoughts, as all humans do. I have often wondered… if it would do anything to save the lives of all those poor old women and men that he burns to death, if… if I were to use the Death Note…"

"To kill Pére-Terre?"

"Yes," Sister Lucia replied softly, clutching the notebook to her chest and closing her eyes. "One life for so many… but…"

She suddenly took the Death Note from her chest again, sliding it quickly back into the drawer and shutting it again.

"…I couldn't," she said quickly, fumbling with the key to lock the notebook up again. "I simply _couldn't_. Even taking _one_ life… No matter what Pére-Terre says, to kill is not Our Lord's way. Did He not speak unto Moses, "Thou shalt not kill"?"

Suyaka offered nothing but a small nod in reply.

"Though I shudder to think, Suyaka," Sister Lucia went on quietly, "what should have happened if Pére-Terre had been to one to pick up your notebook instead of I…"

"Yes." Suyaka tilted her head. "Lucia, it is not the Death Note itself that is evil. It has no mind or intent of its own. If left locked away, as you keep it, it is nothing but a notebook. It is the intent behind its use that is evil."

Suyaka paused for a moment, knowing that Sister Lucia was clinging to her every word.

"Or _good_," she added quietly.

—

The old woman was the cataclysm.

The old woman – a frail, bent creature, thrown out of her home that very day – who came to the church, begging shelter and sanctuary. Abbot Dongeouise had welcomed her, bringing her in out of the cold; offering her food, a chamber and blankets, and assigning Sister Lucia to see to her.

Since life as a nun was a rather solitary existence (though, in secret, she had Suyaka to talk to), Sister Lucia was happy to tend to the old woman, and talked to her as she brought her meat broth and hot water and honey mixed with a little mead.

Her name, the nun learned, was Nadine Deneuve, and she was widowed – her husband of many years had died of cholera seven months before. And with no husband to fend for her, she had had a fight on her hands to keep her property, finally losing the battle that day. With no immediate family near her, she had come to the church.

"And you are welcome here, Madame Deneuve," Sister Lucia told her in her accented French.

The old lady smiled.

"Thankyou, my dear." She paused; and for a single breathless moment, Sister Lucia wondered if she could perhaps see Suyaka floating behind her, but; "…You are Italian."

"Yes. I am Sister Lucia di Mercatto."

"_Lucia_," Nadine Deneuve repeated. "A name meaning "light". Is that not correct? Forgive me, I know little Italian."

"No." Sister Lucia smiled. "That is absolutely correct."

On that rapport formed between the nun and widow, the former never could have guessed that the latter would prove to be such a disastrous cataclysm; but Nadine Deneuve stayed for three days, during which she gave no trouble at all; and on the third morning, the door to the kitchen was suddenly thrown inwards, admitting a group of seven men, all wearing crucifixes and cloaks, and headed by none other than Michel Pére-Terre.

Abbot Dongeouise was at the back, protesting feebly about this being a House of God; his objections were rather drowned out by Pére-Terre, who extended an accusing finger towards the terrified figure of Nadine Deneuve, and, with blazing eyes, spoke against her;

"There before you, gentlemen! There she is, thing of evil, that we have searched for these past three days! This _witch_ who avoids our righteous judgement!"

"No!" Nadine gasped. "I-I am no witch, monsieur!"

"Ha!" Cried Pére-Terre aloud, and he beckoned to his spineless posse. "Seize this lying creature! We shall burn her sinful flesh from her bones, and pray that God has mercy upon her wicked soul!"

Three of the witch-hunters rushed forward; to find their path blocked by Sister Lucia.

"Please, I beg you!" The nun cried. "Stop this madness! Our Lord does not favour this barbaric behaviour!"

The witch-hunters paused, though whether it was because they believed Sister Lucia's words to be true, or simply because they didn't know whether or not it was a sin to push a nun aside, was not clear.

"You blasted fools!" Pére-Terre blazed, coming forward himself; he bodily threw Sister Lucia to the stone floor, grasping Nadine Deneuve himself; and at that, his followers snapped back into action, helping him to drag the struggling old woman from the room, while she screamed for the Lord to have mercy.

"Come, good abbot," Pére-Terre sneered, grasping Abbot Dongeouise by the front of his habit and pulling him along. "Come speak the Last Rites at the stake for this wicked wretch…"

"Lucia, did he hurt you?" Suyaka asked as the nun grasped at the table and pulled herself back up again.

"Suyaka," Sister Lucia breathed, "I must ask you for something."

"What is it?"

"In a moment…" Sister Lucia suddenly took from the room, hoisting up her habit from around her ankles; and the Shinigami followed her up to her chamber, reaching it only as Sister Lucia wrenched open the drawer and pulled the Death Note from it.

"You are to use it?" Suyaka inquired, knowing already of the answer.

"I must," Sister Lucia said shakily. "That man, that wretched man…! It is _he_ who is evil, Suyaka, not Nadine Deneuve; nor indeed any of the others that he has 'punished'! I _must_ stop him; perhaps I can even save Nadine…!"

"Lucia…" Suyaka felt it right to interject at this point, since the young woman before her had devoted her entire life to serving God. "…A human who uses the Death Note cannot go to Heaven or Hell."

"I know, Suyaka. You have told me. That cannot matter now."

"Then what is it you must ask me for?"

Sister Lucia finally glanced up at her, her dark Italian eyes very determined, though seeped with an anger the Shinigami had never seen before.

"I need the eyes, Suyaka."

The Shinigami was surprised, and did not hide it.

"Why should you need the eyes? You know his name."

Sister Lucia only smiled sadly.

"That may be so, but… I cannot write. I was never taught. But if I can _see_ his name…"

"…You can _copy_ it into the notebook," Suyaka finished softly. "Lucia, I have told you the price of Shinigami Eyes."

"I know, Suyaka. I am prepared to pay it. I make the deal."

"Very well." Suyaka dealt with the nun; taking half of her life, at her great lament, in exchange for the ability to see Michel Pére-Terre's name above his head.

"Thankyou, Suyaka." Taking up the notebook, a quill and ink, Sister Lucia once again broke into a frantic run; and the Shinigami was destined to follow, ever attached to the nun.

Michel Pére-Terre's 'Judgement Altar' was not far from the church, perhaps erected there merely for cruel irony; so that he could smile his handsome, indulgent smile as his "witches" wept and prayed at the stake as the flames rose higher. The French had, after all, a rather sick practice of burning witches alive.

It was too late to save Nadine Deneuve – she was already dead, and the flames were making short work of what was left of her. Suyaka was sickened by the cheering of the crowd – how vile were humans, to come and call with delight at the sight of another human being burned alive?

Sister Lucia was focused elsewhere, however; though perhaps foolish in her actions, for she came right to the front of the crowd so that she could see Pére-Terre's name to copy it down into the pages of the Death Note.

The throng, still screaming their mirth, did not notice the nun amongst them, scratching painfully into the black notebook; until she finished, and clutched it to her, and Michel Pére-Terre clutched at his wicked heart forty seconds later, his handsome face becoming twisted in agony.

"What is… this _witchcraft_?!" He gasped, collapsing to his knees. "Cursed… I am _cursed_… to _die_…!"

He looked wildly amongst the crowd, which had suddenly fallen into a deadly silent spell, his eyesight fading; and then they focused on one, and one alone.

"_You_," he hissed at Sister Lucia. "…_Witch_…!"

Michel Pére-Terre keeled completely forward and died; and panic erupted, bidden forth by his last words, directed at Sister Lucia, and her only.

"I am not a witch!" The nun cried as she felt those around her suddenly begin to grab at her habit and veil. "I am a servant of Our Lord!"

"And what is _this_?" One of the witch-hunters snarled, stepping forward and tearing the Death Note from her hands.

He opened the notebook, further disciples of the dead Pére-Terre gathering around; and the first to seize the notebook paled, before he held it aloft to the crowd.

"See here, this witch has written Monsieur Pére-Terre's name into the pages of this spellbook, and he has died before us!"

The crowd began its murderous murmuring once more; as Sister Lucia struggled, panic rising within her.

And then the first witch-hunter let out a terrible shriek, pointing at something beyond Sister Lucia.

"And now!" He yelled, aghast, "I see her familiar! O, hideous creature! _This_, my friends… this before us is a true witch, who has shown us her powers!"

The other witch-hunters snatched up the notebook in turn, and began to yell and tremble upon seeing Suyaka floating darkly behind Sister Lucia.

"Bring forth the witch!" Yelled the first, apparently stepping into the place of the despicable Pére-Terre. "We shall yet avenge the death of Monsieur Pére-Terre! We shall kill the witch who has killed him!"

"No, _no_…!" Sister Lucia cried, breathless with terror as she was bodily thrust forward into the greedy waiting arms of the witch-hunters. "I am no witch! Can you not see that I serve only Our Lord, and not Satan?!"

"You wear the cruellest of disguises," spoke then a witch-hunter, "to deceive those who are good and true to Our Lord's will."

"We shall burn the witch!" Shouted another, as Sister Lucia was dragged to a stake and tied to it with rope despite her screams.

And the crowd rejoiced, screaming for the witch to be burnt alive, to rid the world of her evil powers.

"Light then the fires of Justice!" Spoke the first of the witch-hunters, and the fires were lit on his command.

"And burn too her spellbook!" A third said, throwing the Death Note into the rising flames.

"_No_!" Sister Lucia screamed. "This is wrong judgement! Please, help… Suyaka, help me, please, _help me_…!"

"See now, she calls for her familiar to aid her!" One of the witch-hunters jeered, and the crowd once more began to collectively bloodlust.

Invisible still to most of the crowd, Suyaka knew she could not save Sister Lucia's life; not now that it had been halved to so little an amount – and still, if it were possible, Suyaka would die for altering Sister Lucia's lifespan, and that would give her only forty seconds to write down the names of all those who needed to die to ensure the nun's escape.

Which was to say, the entire crowd and the six other witch-hunters.

Even a Shinigami was not capable of such a feat.

But Suyaka could not stand and allow the only good human she had yet come across to suffer such an atrocious death; and so she took open her own Death Note, and wrote into it one name only;

_Lucia di Mercatto_.

The nun must have known, probably feeling the shuddering agony in her heart; and understood then, for she looked up at Suyaka amidst the smoke, and spoke with her dying breath; "Thankyou".

Though, as she drifted away from the scene, now freed of being attached to anyone since the Death Note had been burnt along with its owner, she wondered quite what it was that Sister Lucia had thanked her for.

After all, the nun's death had been senseless – Michel Pére-Terre might be gone, but clearly there were those ready and willing to stand in his place and continue his work.

There was still evil in the world.

And that wasn't because of Death Notes; or even death itself, was the Shinigami's reasoning.

It was because there were _humans_.

* * *

Wow, that one is quite long. Sorry! Parts II and III aren't this long! 

Obvious Real _Death Note _Character™ references in this were:

[1 The meaning of Sister Lucia's name; _Lucia_, Italian feminine form of Lucius, from (Latin) _lux_ (_light_).

[2 Nadine Deneuve – No, she isn't supposed to be related to L, I just borrowed the name of his third detective alter-ago, given that it is French.

[3 Also, this chapter kind of carried references to Light's "cleanse the world of evil" way of dealing justice, though Pére-Terre was not the one with the Death Note.


	3. England, 1879

Tales of the Slayers: II

England, 1879

Letitia Nancy Marlowe was an exquisite figure; beauteous and high-fashioned, her form perfectly winched in by corsets and tight laces, and filled out again voluptuously with layers of petticoats beneath her skirts of deep purple silks and satins and velvets. Her hair was raven, wild and long and loose down her slender back, and her eyes were a deep indigo.

She was well-mannered and from exceedingly good breeding, and therefore it was met only with nods of approval when Jonathon Anthony Marlowe – a young and successful journalist for The Strand, London's most popular newspaper – took her for his wife, upon meeting her at a grand gala thrown by The Strand for its staff and benefactors, the latter of which Leticia's father was.

They were married in a church and lived happily in London for some two years after their marriage; but upon entering the third year of their matrimonial union, Jonathon noted that his lovely young wife had begun to act rather strangely. She seemed secretive, and rather jumpy, and often shied from her husband's company.

Upon calling a doctor out of concern for his wife, it was soon diagnosed that she had fallen pregnant with the couple's first child, and at first this satisfied Jonathon as to why Letitia's behaviour had changed.

As the months wore on, however, he grew again concerned, for her behaviour seemed to become more strange and erratic, and he feared for the health of the unborn child as well as she; he had heard her speak to entities that were not there, and one in particular.

He had heard her utter, time and time again, the name "Suok", though when he asked her what it meant, or who Suok was, she snapped that it was nothing, and looked fiercely away from his concerned gaze.

The doctor was called again, and he offered a remedy; to take Letitia to the country for a while, away from the busy noisiness of the city, which was perhaps, the doctor reasoned, the cause of her odd behaviour.

"London is city full of a great many things that may be terrifying to a young mother-to-be, sir," the doctor advised. "Murderers, thieves, sickness, pollution. She is perhaps concerned for the welfare of the child."

"Then who is Suok, my good man?" Jonathon asked in desperation.

The doctor shrugged.

"Perhaps a guardian angel she has invented, or perhaps a pet-name for the unborn child. I think that it hardly something worth worrying about."

Jonathon only nodded; and the next day took six months leave and advanced pay, and away to the country went Letitia and he.

Letitia's behaviour did not seem greatly improved, though she seemed happier after the child was born, and more content indeed when she held it in her arms.

Jonathon found himself greatly perplexed, however, as the weeks after the birth wore on; and Letitia refused the give the baby a name.

"But he must have a name, my dear," he coaxed. "How else shall we call him?"

"No, he must have no name," Letitia replied, clutching the baby to her breast. "It is to protect him."

"Suok?" Jonathan suggest tentatively. "How do you like that name, my love? I have heard you utter it."

Letitia's dark, piercing eyes met with her husband's, holding his gaze in a sudden magnetic binding of raw fury.

"Suok is not his name," she hissed. "Never speak that name again, Jonathon."

"Letitia, my love—"

"I will speak no more with you, Jonathon."

And speak with her husband again she did not.

—

"I can stand this no more, Suok," she said, standing at the window holding the baby. Her voice was soft, unused for days, and her hair was tangled and unkempt. She cared nothing for herself now, only the child in her arms.

Suok – the small, round, beetle-like Shinigami – gave a nod; he could see that Letitia Marlowe was mad.

She'd been mad for almost a year.

She'd found the Death Note on the bank of the Thames and picked it up; reading through it with interest because she liked the works of Poe from America, though not believing that it worked.

It was unfortunate at Suok had been late in showing up to meet and greet the notebook's new owner; Letitia was already a murderer by the time he was in position to tell her not to write down the name of her father in the notebook if she didn't want him to die.

It had been nothing but an innocent memo; a reminder of a function her father was throwing, so that she and Jonathon would be sure not to forget to go to it that weekend.

She'd gone into shock when her distraught mother visited her the next day, informing her that her father had collapsed and died of a heart attack the previous day – and when Letitia checked back, she found that it had been forty seconds after she had stupidly written her dear father's name down in the Death Note.

Still, she still wasn't altogether sure that it _had_ been her doing; and she grieved in Jonathon's arms, taking comfort in his kind and soothing words—

Until Suok showed up. Suok, the attached Shinigami, informing her that the Death Note was real, and really worked, and hadn't she figured that out by now?

She'd learnt then of names and faces and deals and lifespans; knowing then the power of a name, and the death sentence it could carry, and vowing not to name the child growing within her.

Though she grew in madness, spending whole days lying in bed, her dark eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, whispering of the wicked evil Death Note that had stolen away her father, and talking incessantly to Suok about things he neither knew nor cared about.

After giving birth, she clutched the nameless baby tightly, barely letting him leave her arms; loathe to allow even her husband – the baby's _father_ – hold him, it seemed.

And when Jonathan insisted on naming the baby, something inside Letitia snapped. Sentence their child to death? Was _that_ what this wicked man she called her husband wanted?

But her husband had a name – oh, yes, _Jonathon_ had a name…

"Nobody has come," Letitia whispered, rocking the baby. "Jonathon has been dead now, Suok, dead for a week, lying up there in bed all alone, and no-one has come, no-one knows he is dead but you and I…"

Her voice was lulling, dipping up and down in pitch, and even the Shinigami was unnerved.

"Letitia," he said finally, "you can give the Death Note up. Lose your memories of it."

"That will bring nothing back." The baby writhed in her arms, and began to whimper. "Hush, little one." The woman turned to Suok. "It is All Hallow's Eve, Suok. The night of the dead, when restless spirits walk the earth." Her gaze returned to the window. "Is Jonathon there? My father?"

The Shinigami shrugged.

"I wonder," Letitia breathed, forehead against the icy glass, "if you were to be born upon this day – the day of the dead – if you would be immune to the Death Note's powers."

Suok gave yet another shrug.

"I doubt that. The rule says "The human whose name is written into this note shall die". It says nothing about exempting you if you happen to be born on a day that celebrates dead people."

Letitia gave a little laugh.

"It hardly matters." She smiled down at her baby. "_This_ is the greatest protection. _No name_."

"With all due respect, Letitia," Suok said pointedly, "when I left the Shinigami Realm, no others had dropped a notebook. You are, at present, the only person in the human world who has a Death Note in their possession. So if anyone were to try and write your child's name down into a note, it would be you, and you only."

Letitia glanced at him over her slender shoulder.

"You think that I would kill my child?" She gave a sudden cold little laugh. "Suok, that is the reason that Jonathon _died_. My son is nameless so that he will _live_."

—

Which, incidentally, did little to prevent Letitia Nancy Marlowe, later that Halloween night, from dashing the nameless baby's brains out on the kitchen floor, before setting the entire house alight and then, amidst the smoke and flames, the baby dead in her arms, and holding the hand of her dead husband, writing down her own name.

"Will you sign then, sir?"

"Yes." The young, smartly-dressed man took the pen and signed, with a flourishing and skilful hand, his name, handing it back to the lawyer upon completion.

The lawyer adjusted his glasses as both he and his companion glanced upwards at the gutted country house.

"She was your sister, then, sir?" The lawyer asked finally.

"Mrs Marlowe? Yes, she was. A tragic thing, this. First my father, and now this."

"I hate to tell you this, sir, but… the word from the detectives is that this was a suicide, most likely on your sister's part."

The young man gave a solemn nod.

"She was not quite herself this past year. Certainly I would believe that, even if I should not like to, sir."

"What shall you do with all the belongings salvaged?"

"I do not know yet, though most curious is this." The brother of Letitia Marlowe reached into the pocket of his long frockcoat and withdrew, with leather-gloved hands, a black notebook. "It is rather burned, but it was found in her arms."

"A notebook?" The lawyer scratched at his hair. "I do not see the relevance."

"Me neither." The young man put the notebook back into his pocket. "I shall probably destroy it. It is rather burned anyway, as I said. I simply found it a queer thing to be in her hand in her dying moments."

"Indeed, sir."

The lawyer offered his hand to shake, which the young man took and obliged.

"A pleasure, sir."

"Quite, ah…" the lawyer replied, holding up the signed paper to read off the young man's name again, "…Stephen Wammy, was it?"

"Yes." And Stephen Wammy tipped his hat politely and smiled before turning to leave. "Good day to you, sir."

He made for his carriage; Suok floating unseen behind him, wondering blithely whether this Death Note nonsense was going to run in this entire damn family.

* * *

Obvious Real _Death Note _Character™ references in this were:

[1 Check out the initials of Letitia's full title. :)

[2 While Letitia unwittingly referenced L by asking if someone born on Halloween would be immune to the powers of the Death Note (and, given that L died, we know that's not true – then again, she's mad…), the date of this piece – Halloween, 1879 – is exactly one hundred years to the day prior to L's actual birth (October 31st, 1979).

[3 Letitia's brother, Stephen Wammy, and so, though her name was lost to marriage, Letitia herself, are ancestors of Quillsh Wammy, aka Watari.

Heh, no dip. :D


	4. New York, 1933

Tales of the Slayers: III

New York, 1933

"You know somethin'?" It was accompanied a long, deep drag on the cigar. "They call me 'Death Eyes'. But you know that." A callous flick of ash. "You know that, right?"

"Y-yes."

"Good." 'Death Eyes' scratched at his hairline in a show of mock-thoughtfulness. "It's just, you know… I ain't been getting no good reports about you lately, Frankie Boy. No good reports at all. It's kinda worryin'; you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Y-yeah, I'm sorry, it's just… th-the shipment didn't come through right, and I ain't got no-one to—"

"Ah ah, Frankie Boy. Hush up a second." 'Death Eyes' leaned forward towards the trembling, spindly lackey. "Now listen up, bud. I want you to fix this screw-up, and I want you to fix it real fast, or there's gonna be trouble, you catch my drift? Huh, Frankie Boy? Do you?"

Frankie Boy nodded again.

"Yeah, I catch your drift loud and clear, Death Eyes, sir."

"Good." Death Eyes leaned back again, enjoying his cigar quite a bit. "Now scat. Go fix up that little problem before _I_ fix _you_."

Frankie Boy held the other man's gaze for a moment or two, clearly terrified by the threat, before turning on his heel and scatting for all his worth.

"I could do it," Death Eyes said after a moment, to the room that should have been empty, given the absence of Frankie Boy; but was not, given the presence of Kyushu, obligatory attached Shinigami. "Since we made that trade, Kyushu, I can see all their names, just like you said."

Kyushu – a sickly-green creature, with the appearance of being shoddily stitched together again after being hacked apart with a fire axe – only nodded.

"Let's see," Death Eyes, went on, taking up his Death Note and a pen, and poising the latter above the former. "In this profession, you know… everybody goes by pseudonyms. It's safer, stops the fuzz gettin' your name and banging you up for fifty to life. I mean, Frankie Boy… Well, you saw his name too, Kyushu – it ain't even nothin' _like_ Frank. How'd you get "Frankie Boy" outta 'Joseph Kenwood'? But you see, that's the beauty – only Frankie Boy and I know that now, and if Frankie Boy ever screws the hell up again, I can just kill him."

Death Eyes lowered the pen to the notebook; and then lifted it again, looking at the Shinigami.

"Know what's interesting, though? I've only had these eyes o' yours for… what, a few days? An' the Death Note itself maybe only a month or two. Yet that's always been my name; 'Death Eyes'."

"Yeah," Kyushu said, casting his own pale yellow eyes above Death Eyes' head; because Death Eyes… that obviously wasn't his real name.

His real name, as Kyushu read, was Kinsella Penber.

Incidentally, Kyushu never addressed the man as 'Death Eyes' – the name seemed ridiculous to him, perhaps because he was a _giver_ of such eyes, and called him merely Kinsella, to which Kinsella himself could not object, for no-one but he could see or hear the Shinigami, and so there was no danger of his true name ever being overheard.

Kinsella Penber was a man of almost forty; fair-haired and dark-eyed, with a heavy cigar habit, interspersed with the occasional indulgence in red wine. He was a true New Yorker, man-about-town, with a whisper of Bronx to his accent; suit always crisp, fedora always tilted to just the right angle. He'd had a wife once, but she'd been hit by a tram – or so the story went, anyway.

Nah, Laura Penber hadn't been hit by a tram; she'd been hit by another crime boss, Kinsella wasn't dumb, he knew that. He'd skipped out on a few payments to some other schmuck, lost his wife, that was the price to pay, so now he just screwed about here and there, but he never planned on marrying again, not after Laura.

He had a brother, Waldo; two years younger than him, worked on Wall Street, still had his wife, and two kids to boot. He and Waldo didn't talk much any more, Mr Wall Street Journal had never approved of what Kinsella had gotten involved in.

_Involved_ in? Kinsella laughed everytime he thought of it like that. He was here because he wanted to be – because he knew how to handle this kind of work, big underworld business, there was money to be made and Kinsella Penber was the man to make that money, no doubt about that. He'd been successful enough before the Death Note had shown up in his back yard – now he was near-invincible.

He'd offed the guy who'd killed Laura, of course. He'd been the first on the list. But since that day he'd raised in ranks, killing those who were in his way, until he found himself here, near the top.

Of course, being near the top made you notorious.

And being notorious meant that the fuzz wanted your head on a platter.

"'Course, Kyushu," Kinsella continued, still smoking thoughtfully, "you know the _real_ reason I made the trade with you."

The Shinigami gave another lazy nod, knowing indeed the true motive in Kinsella's madness – why he had bargained away half of his lifespan for the ability to see names.

One single name, in particular.

"That damn fucking _detective_," Kinsella spat in continuation. "I tell ya, it feels like he's _chained_ to me sometimes. No matter where I go or what I do, he's right there in my face, and though he ain't yet caught me, he's _way_ too close for comfort."

Kinsella waved his cigar around a few times, as though conducting an invisible orchestra.

"It's his _name_, see? I don't know his name. Or, his _full_ name, anyway. Detective Angel Raye… well, I tried writing that one down, figuring his first name was _Angel_, but he didn't die, so it ain't right. My guess now is that he must have two surnames, or maybe Angel's a middle name, or whatever… The point is, I'm missin' something, there's still a name I need to finish him off once and for all. Still…"

Kinsella stubbed out his cigar, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin.

"…Now I've got the eyes, it's curtain time for Mr Detective. Next time I see him, his ticker's goin' out with a bang."

Kyushu only nodded and decided to wait and see; for he could only see names and lifespans, not the future.

—

Incidentally, apparently what Kinsella Penber hadn't counted on was the fact that a gun could be drawn and fired faster than a three-word name could be written.

Detective James Angel Raye was a shoot-first, ask-questions-later kind of guy, and wasn't at all interested in why 'Death Eyes' had brought a pen and notebook along to their next little confrontation, nor why he began to grin when his eyes wandered to the place above the detective's beige fedora.

In fact, to say that Detective James Angel Raye had drawn the gun in that time was a lie – the truth of the matter was that the .38 magnum was already in his hand, cocked and trigger-fingered.

The moment Kinsella Penber smiled and lifted his pen, the detective shot him seven times.

Kyushu didn't blink as Kinsella keeled and hit the floor, wide-eyed and blood-drenched and _dead_.

James Angel Raye was a bit of a fucking headcase, to be perfectly honest; the type that probably wouldn't have hesitated to use the Death Note on Kinsella, had he had half the chance, and had known of it beforehand.

Though, given that he was the next to pick the fallen Death Note up, he became the owner; and only glanced at Kyushu with his incredibly hard eyes for a moment or two before looking back at the notebook, opening it and reading down the rules.

Kyushu said nothing to him, preferring to look at him – he wasn't sure if he liked this James Angel Raye, to be frank. Sure, he was one of the good guys, but there was just… something _about_ him. Something devoid, as though he was _missing_ something.

He wasn't very old – mid-twenties, maybe – with dark brown hair and very cold eyes. Maybe it was the eyes, then – thought the beige trench and fedora didn't help his rather… _empty_ appearance.

No, it had to be the eyes.

Eventually the detective looked up at Kyushu again, and the Shinigami felt that he ought to say something, given that James was now the owner of the Death Note; but before he could say a thing—

"Here." James roughly thrust the notebook outwards towards him. "Take it."

Kyushu couldn't help blink.

"Take it…?"

"You heard me," James snapped. "This is your notebook of death, right? Take it and get out of my sight."

"You… don't want it?"

Detective James Angel Raye smiled an icy smile.

"A tempting offer," he said, "but no. I have no use for this. Something so destructive can be beneficial to no human, not even the one who owns it."

And as Kyushu reached forth to grasp the Death Note, the detective smiled further still, and said with utmost certainty;

"_I reject it_."

* * *

Obvious Real _Death Note _Character™ references in this were:

[1 Kinsella Penber – Obviously an ancestor of Ray Penber (though Ray would have been descended from Waldo Penber rather than Kinsella, who got wiped out)

[2 "Frankie Boy"/Joseph Kenwood – 'Kenwood' is the true surname of Wedy (Mary Kenwood). Seemed only fair to include both actual American characters, Wedy and Ray Penber, in this segment. :)

[3 Detective James Angel Raye acts in part as foreshadowing of L – he is _not_ related to him (duh, like you need me to point out the foreshadowing, but James' pursuit of Kinsella slightly mirror's L's pursuit of Light, even to the extent that Kinsella says that it's like being chained to him; plus there's the thing where Kinsella can't kill James because he doesn't know his (whole) name, like Light couldn't kill L). James is a bit more psychotic than L, however (though does have the same immediate rejection of the Death Note as something evil).


	5. Epilogue

Tales of the Slayers

Epilogue

"Ryuk," Light said after a moment's silence; as both he and the Shinigami watched L's car drive away from the hospital.

"Yeah?"

"I think they're wrong." Light brushed a little of his brown hair back from his eyes. "My father, I mean. And Ryuga."

"About what?"

Light gave a little snort.

"Ryuga said that an ordinary human who had gained the power of Kira was a very unfortunate person. My father said that anything gained by killing others cannot be considered true happiness. _I_ happen to think that they are both wrong."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. The Death Note has made me happy, Ryuk. Happier than I've ever been, because I've been given the power of a god, so that I can clean up this mess of a world. _Shouldn't_ I be happy with such a gift?"

Ryuk shrugged.

"I don't care if you're happy or not," he said in his usual callous manner, "but there's something you should know, Light."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Ryuk's grin, if possible, widened further. "As a rule, they say that humans haunted by Shinigami have nothing but misfortune."

Light only turned away, beginning to walk off.

"Well then, I guess you'll get to see the exception to the rule, Ryuk."

Ryuk snickered as he flew after his tagged human.

"Lucky me."

**END**

* * *

And if you read all the way through… _thankyou_ so very much! I know reading stories in a fandom which have nothing to do with the original storyline and characters are annoying – I myself tend to avoid them like the plague, but… 

_Tales of the Slayers_ was illustrated with OCs for a purpose, and I hope you enjoyed it (and enjoyed the histories of the Wammy, Penber and (to a lesser extent) Kenwood family trees, heh heh…)!

Oh, and the Shinigami names (Suyaka, Suok and Kyushu)? Don't ask. I dunno. I just made them up off the top of my head. But all the existing Shinigami seem to have Japanese-influenced names, so that was my criteria.

You could probably tell I made them up…


End file.
